


Soft Spot

by run_sure_footed



Series: Before Kipo [7]
Category: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)
Genre: Cloaca, M/M, Oral Sex, Penetration, body image issues, non-mammalian genitalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/run_sure_footed/pseuds/run_sure_footed
Summary: Jamack finds a softer place for him and Harris.This is mostly smut, but it's still pretty sweet.And this time I actually got some art done for the fic in time to post it! I want to do that more regularly.
Relationships: Harris/Jamack (Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts)
Series: Before Kipo [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878325
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	Soft Spot

Harris frowned. “You just passed the garage.”

Jamack couldn’t hide his grin anymore. “Oh, did I? Huh.”

“…Jamack.”

“I found a new spot for us. It’ll be more comfortable,” he promised. Sex had quickly become a routine for them again, as often as they could sneak away for patrols. Their break ups seemed to be short lived and Jamack was glad to be back to their usual pattern. They usually went to the same little garage, but Jamack wanted a bit more comfort than kneeling on the hood of the car.

“Mm-hmm. And when, exactly, did you find the time to discover this cozy little spot of yours?” Harris asked dryly. “It wasn’t one of your ‘tips,’ was it?” Yet another of Jamack’s peculiarities—he was always talking to mutes from other gangs, and not in officially sanctioned ways. Sure, some of Jamack’s information had been useful in the past, but Harris wasn’t about to admit that.

“Sort of.” Jamack said nothing more. Harris, not unlike the rest of the Mod Frogs, did not understand why Jamack thought getting information from every possible source might be important. Despite his contacts, there was no way in hell Jamack was making a spot some other mute gang knew about his and Harris’ secret hideaway. He’d learned about it from reading reports and had thought it worth checking out himself. A couple Mod Frogs had patrolled through here, noted that the building was in good shape, with nothing visible for scavenging and had left it at that. Harris also didn’t bother reading reports for the most part, and to be fair, a lot of Mod Frogs didn’t think reading reports was worth their time, but Jamack was always looking for a little extra leverage, a little head start. It was worth it when he found a gem, like this place.

They pulled the car into a little alleyway and under a few enormous roots from some of the greenery growing through the building next to them. Jamack released the dragonfly before heading inside and leading the way upstairs to a small and mostly empty apartment. Part of it had roots and vines growing through it, but it was quiet and private and once the door was closed it was isolated. The windows opened to an enclosed courtyard, filled with enormous overgrown plants, further hiding the little apartment from the outside world.

Harris didn’t have to move his head or eyes in order to look around. He could take in the whole room at once—and, he could grudgingly admit, in the privacy of his own mind, that Jamack had chosen well. The carpet was covered in dry leaves and he doubted it had originally been covered in random patches of green and brown—though who knew with humans—but it wasn’t rotting. The place smelled rich and earthy, but one of the windows was broken and the air was clean enough, without the closed-in staleness many of the old human buildings contained. Not that there were many of those left with completely intact windows.

There were a few rickety hulks of furniture circling the middle of the room, but even the bare carpet would be a huge improvement over the way they usually fucked.

“How did you find this place?” he asked. “Smells like humans,” Harris grumbled, because he couldn’t just come out and tell Jamack he’d done a good job. Especially not right away.

Jamack grinned. Harris only gave him criticism, but he could tell he was just as pleased as him. Mod Frogs didn’t thank each other much, that would be admitting that they _owed_ whoever they were thanking.

“This isn’t even the best part,” Jamack chuckled, not answering the question. While exploring the partially destroyed apartment building, he’d tried to open what he’d thought was a wardrobe, only to find that it didn’t open the way he’d expected.

Now, with Harris watching, he went to the wardrobe and pulled at the handles—not pulling forward, but pulling them down from the top to reveal a bed that had been folded neatly inside. The mattress itself seemed clean. Whatever it was stuffed with apparently didn’t rot, and it was _soft_. Jamack sat on it, grinning up at Harris.

Harris narrowed his eyes so Jamack wouldn’t see how pleased he was. Most Mod Frogs made do with whatever scraps they could find to line their nests—younger Frogs couldn’t even get that, and usually used moss or any soft vegetation they could find—but the Boss had an actual mattress like this one. He’d only seen it once, when Kwat had carried the Boss into her room after she’d been injured and Harris had simply followed in her wake.

He’d never thought he’d actually get to touch one himself, never mind…

He settled beside Jamack, shifting his weight this way and that to feel how the bed moved beneath him. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked it, but even through his suit he could feel how soft it was. Much softer than anything he’d ever slept on, never mind the hood of a car. He elbowed Jamack in the ribs, fairly hard, before he could get too sastisfied with himself. “It’ll do, I guess.”

“Such high praise,” Jamack laughed, grabbing Harris by the tie and tightening it around his throat mercilessly.

Harris shivered and went limp, leaving him sprawled across Jamack’s lap and looking up at him breathlessly. He tried to squirm away, but Jamack was still holding his tie. He narrowed his eyes again, trying to appear more annoyed than aroused. He didn’t think Jamack would fall for it, not for a second, but he had to at least _try_.

Jamack’s grin turned almost fond and he pushed Harris off his lap and flat on the mattress. He began unbuttoning Harris’ jacket and shirt, opening them to reveal Harris’ pale chest and stomach, and the beautifully bright stripes marking his sides. “Mmm,” he hummed approvingly, running his fingers over Harris’ sides.

“‘Mmm,’ yourself,” Harris grumbled, but without any heat to it. He closed his eyes and allowed Jamack to indulge himself in what was by now a familiar ritual. He’d almost gotten to the point where he didn’t flinch every time Jamack’s fingers left the solid green of his back and trailed down to the bright explosion of colours on his sides.

He wished he could see them the way Jamack did. Beautiful, rather than a curse. If Jamack was being honest and not just laughing at him behind his back, but he really did think Jamack meant it. Somehow that almost made it worse.

Jamack began unbuttoning his own jacket and shirt, undoing his tie and setting his clothes aside. He draped them over a relatively clean tree root. Reluctantly, he got off Harris in order to allow them both to completely undress.

“You look like you’re about to eat me.” Harris laughed a little nervously and looked away from the intensity of Jamack’s gaze. Getting naked certainly wouldn’t help with that, but it gave him an excuse to concentrate on something besides Jamack. He could still watch Jamack, and he saw the other Frog’s expression soften even further once he thought Harris wasn’t looking. It had been happening more and more often. Harris didn’t think it was so much Jamack getting sloppy as him simply not realizing just how good Harris’ peripheral vision was compared to his own.

He hadn’t told Jamack what he’d seen. The looks Jamack gave him when he knew Harris _could_ see him were bad enough.

Jamack, now entirely naked, sat back down on the bed to watch Harris. “It doesn’t look like you mind,” he countered.

Harris couldn’t help snorting at that. “No, I suppose you’re not wrong,” he admitted. He wished he could look at Jamack the way Jamack looked at him—hungry and possessive—but he also wished he could wipe that look off Jamack’s face forever. He couldn’t do either.

He did the closest he could manage, looking over Jamack appraisingly, the way he would before a fight or a business transaction. Which, he reminded himself, this was.

He couldn’t help envying Jamack’s shape, his more-or-less solid colour. His eyes. At least he was taller than Jamack, and he knew Jamack was a little sensitive about his height. He seemed to forget that it was because he spent most of his time with the two tallest Frogs in the pond and not because he was inherently lacking. Jamack was taller than the Boss, but he never seemed to notice that.

He was a coward and waited for Jamack to make the first move. It also gave him plausible deniability—starting something was one thing, but simply going along with it… That was far more forgiveable.

Jamack reached for him, wrapping an arm around Harris’ waist and pulling him between his own spread legs, right up against the mattress. His hands wandered from there, up over Harris’ back, down his sides again, continuing down his hips and thighs, sliding inward from there and rubbing a thumb over Harris’ cloaca. He wasn’t erect yet. The inconspicuous slit was still closed.

Jamack pressed just a little harder, parting him carefully and letting his thumb slide inwards. Harris was smooth and soft everywhere, but inside he felt slippery like silk and Jamack felt himself becoming erect just at the feel of it.

Taller or not, Harris hated how easily Jamack could pick him up and move him just the way he wanted. Loved it. _Hated_ that he loved it, twice as fiercely. He didn’t fight Jamack, not now, though if Jamack showed the slightest sign of doing this in any other context he knew he’d have to put a stop to it, all of it, immediately. He couldn’t have Jamack lifting him around anyone else, not even Kwat. It had been hard enough to convince Jamack—and the other Mod Frogs—that he could take care of and protect himself. He didn’t need Jamack getting careless and scooping him up at a key moment during a fight again.

So far, Jamack had been fairly careful with their boundaries. And it wasn’t that he doubted that Jamack could do it, he was simply inclined towards paranoia and he knew that Jamack could get…dramatic when excited or scared.

He pushed those thoughts away for now, concentrating instead on what Jamack was doing to him, relaxing against Jamack’s solid body supporting him. He gave a little hum of pleasure, spreading his legs farther to give Jamack better access as Jamack coaxed his erection out of him.

With a quick glance up at Harris’ face—eyes partially lidded, lips parted, good—Jamack bent his head and pressed his mouth to his cloaca, licking at his entrance until Harris’ erection began to fill his mouth. He gave a low groan of pleasure with his mouth full.

Harris squirmed and kicked feebly, not really trying to get away but unable to stay still, either. “Jamack!”

Jamack hummed again, not moving away. He tightened his grip on Harris’ thighs to keep him still. Every time they tried something new, or went a little further, Harris made a few unconvincing protests before finally relaxing into it.

It seemed to Jamack that Harris didn’t have much, if any, knowledge about sex. Jamack and Harris were equal in their inexperience, but at least Jamack had heard stories from other Frogs. The Frogs that stayed at the Pond, those who hadn’t and wouldn’t ever earn the title of Mod Frog, weren’t allowed to reproduce during mating season. That didn’t mean they didn’t have sexual relationships, it was just inappropriate for them to be open about it. Most Mod Frogs paid little attention to the Pond Frogs, but Jamack had always found them to be a great source of information.

As long as he had been quiet, he had been allowed to listen to them trading stories and suggestions, though they all kept their partners anonymous, of course. It didn’t surprise him that Harris hadn’t heard those sorts of conversations.

“Y-You can’t do that!” But Harris couldn’t help laughing. It was just so ridiculous…but he couldn’t deny how good it felt. He widened his stance even farther, silently offering himself up without looking at Jamack. At least not directly. 

Jamack didn’t pull away to argue, but his eyes showed his amusement clearly. Harris’ erection was long enough that it nearly teased the back of his throat, but Jamack didn’t pull away. He slid his tongue along the underside of his erection, down to where it parted his cloaca, pressing his tongue in deeper.

Harris gasped and shuddered, shaking his head. “I can’t stay on my feet if you keep that up,” he reluctantly admitted. Jamack’s tongue had brought him frighteningly close, frighteningly quickly, but he wasn’t ready to finish just yet.

Reluctantly, Jamack pulled away, a little breathless. He got his legs under himself and moved back on the bed, reaching out a hand for Harris to join him.

Harris couldn’t help grinning at the obvious, almost vulnerable, expressions darting across Jamack’s face. He liked seeing him like this, without pretense, without even bothering to try and conceal what he was feeling. Or maybe he _was_ trying, but he was too overcome to manage even that simple task. Yeah. Harris liked that a lot.

He allowed Jamack to pull him down onto the bed, secretly revelling in the strength of Jamack’s arms. He found himself straddling Jamack, a little breathlessly, with one hand on either side of Jamack’s head and a knee on either side of Jamack’s waist. He could feel his erection sliding against Jamack’s cloaca, and Jamack’s brushing against his own. It was filthy, depraved… He loved it.

Jamack moaned softly, head tipping back. He lifted it again to meet Harris’ eyes. “Do you want to go a little further this time?”

“Oh?” Harris went still.

Jamack’s voice was quiet as he fought the awkwardness involved in forthright communication. “Fuck me?”

Harris laughed, ignoring his own rising embarrassment. “Oh, is that all?” he teased. For a brief moment he was tempted to ask _‘How?’_ but…he thought he could figure it out on his own. Hopefully he wouldn’t hurt Jamack. He dropped his head a little so he could see the place their bodies met, see his bright-blue erection and Jamack’s entrance. Well, that seemed simple enough. He reached between them and, wrapping a hand around himself, gently guided himself in. Jamack was smooth and ridiculously slick and very slightly warm, as though the heat he’d gathered throughout the day had collected there in his centre.

Jamack had expected he’d need to do a little more prompting, or at least some guiding, but Harris was sliding into him after only a moment’s hesitation and he gasped, his body instinctively tightening around Harris, which only made the sensations more powerful. “Oh,” he managed to gasp, watching Harris’ face.

Harris stilled again, but couldn’t quite bring himself to pull out. Not yet. Not now that he’d felt this. “Is it too much? Did I hurt you?” he asked, sounding a little strained.

Jamack shook his head, unable to form any real words. Harris had slid into Jamack completely, sheathing in him. Jamack had never had anything deeper than the length of his own fingers or wider than two fingers at once. With one slippery thrust Harris had gone far past Jamack’s experimentation and opened up entirely new planes of pleasure. It was just on the edge of painful, more intense than anything he’d ever experienced, but he never wanted it to stop. His body was adjusting to the size quickly. Every tiny motion, every breath, every _heartbeat_ drew soft panting moans out of him. His own erection twitched up against his stomach, leaving a smear of pre-cum against his skin. His fingers clutched the mattress. His legs were shaking. He was barely conscious of his own reactions, his entire being focused on where their bodies met.

“You’re sure?” Harris asked, concern making his voice steadier. He still didn’t move. It was uncouth to admit to being in pain, especially without an extremely visible injury, and Harris was worried that Jamack was simply pretending it didn’t hurt. He couldn’t read Jamack’s expression, which was strange and complicated and Harris didn’t like it. And he never wanted it to stop. Ugh, this was confusing.

He wouldn’t move until he was _certain_.

Jamack was desperately trying to come up with words, any words, anything at all, but his body found an easier solution without consulting his brain. He rocked his hips up to let Harris’ erection slip out an inch or so before sinking back down onto his length. His eyes rolled back, breaths coming out in shudders. He quickly repeated the motion.

Harris slowly relaxed as Jamack’s body, more than his words ever could, convinced him that Jamack really was enjoying himself, that Harris wasn’t hurting him. After a few moments of hesitation, he began slowly thrusting in counterpoint to Jamack’s rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before pushing as deeply as he could again at the height of each stroke. Jamack was so slick inside, wrapping around him like he’d never let go, and Harris never wanted him to.

Jamack’s wordless cries grew louder as Harris began to really fuck him. He was pinned under Harris’—admittedly unsubstantial—weight, unable to do more than rock back and forth in response to Harris’ thrusts. He finally stuffed his knuckles in his mouth, muffling himself, embarrassed of the involuntary sounds being drawn out of him so easily. Precum dribbled off his side from his own erection. Finally his thoughts came together enough to wrap his free hand around his erection and stroke himself. When his hand reached the base, he could feel Harris sliding in and out of him and that feeling made his body tighten around Harris all over again, squeezing him.

Jamack had thought he’d explored his own pleasure thoroughly by himself, that he had discovered all the different kinds of gratification possible. He had been wrong. He was more overwhelmed and aroused than he’d ever imagined he could be, nearly out of his mind with it. He was so close to cumming but he held himself back desperately.

A slow grin spread across Harris’ face. He _loved_ seeing Jamack like this. Doing this to Jamack. He gasped as Jamack clenched around him, somehow even tighter than at any point before. He could see, feel, how close Jamack was, and he couldn’t wait to watch the climax thunder across and through Jamack. He shivered, gasping again at just the thought of how Jamack would feel around him as he came. He watched Jamack’s hand fly up and down his slick erection and sped up his thrusts in response. He couldn’t fuck Jamack as quickly as Jamack’s hand could move, but he could try. Jamack somehow got even _tighter_ with each passing second, until Harris could barely stand it, until he thought he couldn’t possibly last another instant, but he wanted to watch Jamack cum first—or at least begin to.

Jamack reached his limit, his every nerve overloaded, pleasure crawling through him. His body tensed, his head snapped back against the mattress and he came across his chest. He let himself fall mostly limp, though his inner muscles were still tight around Harris. He was panting, eyes closed, shaking.

Even though he was close, so close, a pleased grin spread across Harris’ face. It was just the way he’d pictured it, though he hadn’t thought it through enough to realize Jamack would spill on himself. Well, that was even better than he’d imagined it, and he wondered how he could keep Jamack there longer. Maybe until it dried. Mod Frogs, naturally, hated getting messy, and Harris liked seeing Jamack like this, gasping and sticky and covered in his own cum.

Jamack clenched around him harder than ever as his body slowly settled back into position, and that tipped Harris over the edge. He thrust wildly, furiously, the unsettling and unwelcome image of Jamack’s hand on his throat, his fingers grabbing his wrist, coming into his head as he came. It made his climax more intense, so he decided to push his unease aside. After all, he couldn’t help what he thought while he came—could he?

He shuddered, slowly letting himself sink onto the mattress, legs askew. He cried out softly when the movement pulled him free of Jamack with a wet slurp. They were both still so slick, and Jamack was so open. Harris wished he could go again, but his softening erection was already retreating back into his cloaca.

He stared down at Jamack wordlessly, breathlessly, watching every thought Jamack had flicker across his face and hoping he could read them correctly.

They’d cum together before, but feeling Harris cum _in_ him was so much better. It had only increased the pressure inside him, filling him even deeper than before. It forced another ejaculation out of him with a strangled cry, his erection throbbing before spilling out more cum across his chest and stomach.

Jamack was still breathing hard. He had been trying to recover his wits when his second orgasm had knocked the sense out of him again. The noise their bodies made as Harris withdrew was completely obscene and Jamack loved it. His own erection finally began to withdraw back into his body. “Fuck,” he panted. He wanted to say how amazing it had been, how _good_ Harris had felt in him, but Harris might consider that too intimate, too emotional. It made him sound too vulnerable.

Harris blinked. “You can do that?” There were many other things he might have said, even things he _wanted_ to say, but he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

“Do what?” Jamack groaned, sliding one of his hands over Harris’ thigh.

“Do… _that_. More than once.”

“Cum?” Jamack said, with a slow smirk. “You can’t even say it,” he teased. He looked down at the mess on himself and tried to look displeased. Even if it was against his nature to be a mess, he found himself loving the mess they made when they had sex. “I’ve heard it can happen, but _I’ve_ never cum more than once before,” he admitted.

Harris climbed free of Jamack’s legs with an exaggerated grimace of distaste. He lay down close to Jamack—because the bed was narrow and he didn’t want to leave its softness yet, not because he wanted to _cuddle_ or anything! “Whereas you say it so readily,” he said dryly, looking pointedly at the mess on Jamack’s middle. He wondered what—if anything—Jamack would do about it. He looked fairly boneless. Harris had made him cum _much_ less intensely before and it had taken him several minutes to move and begin cleaning himself up. Naturally, Harris didn’t offer any assistance.

“Yes, I’m shameless.” Jamack rolled his eyes. He pulled Harris in closer, snaking an arm around his waist. He was completely unwilling to get up yet, or to grab one of the cloths he’d stashed here to try and clean himself up. That could wait.

“Yes, you are.” Harris couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice, but he thought Jamack was out of it enough that he wouldn’t necessarily remember or hold it against him. He allowed Jamack to pull him in, pillowing his head on Jamack’s shoulder. Only because he, too, had exerted himself and he was already close to Jamack…

Jamack dozed a little with Harris, until, slowly, Harris began to curl up. He turned onto his belly, leaving his chin resting on Jamack’s shoulder. He drew in his arms and legs, until he was tucked up like a loaf. Jamack let out an involuntary coo. Did Harris always sleep this way? It seemed like that was just how he slept, naturally. It was _adorable_.

Harris slowly blinked awake, lifting his head from where it had been resting on his hands. He stretched out one arm, spreading his fingers, then the other. He’d just started extending one leg when he realized, to his horror, that he wasn’t alone. Jamack was right next to him. Awake.

He scrambled away from Jamack until he hit the moldy wall beside the bed. He grimaced as his bare skin absorbed some of its rank dampness. How had frogs ever lived without suits? Having your hands bare was bad enough, but having your _whole_ _skin_ uncovered all the time? Disastrous.

He fell forward onto all fours. Keeping his whole head turned away from Jamack—though he could still see him at the very edges of his vision—Harris hopped down from the bed and began pulling on his clothes in silence. He’d just given Jamack so much ammunition, ammunition he might even be able to _use_ , unlike most of what they did. He could just say that he’d seen Harris fall asleep during their patrol.

“Oh, come on, we don’t need to be back yet,” Jamack complained. “We’ve got at least another hour. Come back to the bed.”

Harris froze halfway through knotting his tie. There wasn’t a hint of mockery in Jamack’s voice, and that was saying something. His usual speaking tone was at _least_ snide. He simply sounded… He sounded like he meant what he’d said, and nothing more.

Without taking anything off, but without pulling his suit jacket on, either, Harris sighed and returned to the mattress. He sat on the edge just to one side of Jamack. “I don’t know why I sleep like that,” he admitted. “It’s just…the most comfortable. I don’t usually have to worry about…” He shrugged, head drooping.

Jamack wound an arm around his waist and tugged gently, trying to get Harris to lie down with him again. “Would it help if I told you that red-eyed tree frogs slept like that all the time?” Now he allowed himself a little grin. “You said to hide that book, not get rid of it.”

A little reluctantly this time, Harris allowed Jamack to pull him in again, but he was stiff against Jamack’s side and he sat rather than stretching out again. He narrowed his eyes. “I looked through that whole book. There was nothing about how we—I— _they_ sleep,” he said flatly. “I would have remembered that.”

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” Jamack said with a smirk. “I have a _few_ books.” He’d gone out of Mod Frog territory and found other pet stores, and even a library. Not a lot more information than he’d gotten from that one book, but enough that he considered it worth the effort.

Harris shook his head, glad that his back was to Jamack so Jamack wouldn’t be able to see him grin despite himself. “Of course you do. Well?” He slowly slid down until he was lying beside Jamack, but he kept his back pressed against Jamack’s side rather than facing him. At least not yet.

“Well,” Jamack stroked a possessive hand over Harris’ stripes, “these are pretty conspicuous. When they slept, they covered their stripes with their arms and legs and lay flat on a leaf so they were hard to see. Not that you have to worry about that, or anyone seeing them at all…besides me.”

“Mm-hmm. Is that going to happen again?” Harris mentally lined up the colourful patches on his body with the solid green ones, imagining himself fully curled up the way he liked to sleep. Yes, it would hide the colour completely. That made sense. “Why have the stripes at all, then?” he grumbled, more to himself than Jamack. “The other book said the stripes are for scaring predators—though they’d have to be really stupid predators, I think—but why bother with them at all? Why not just be solid green?” It was a question he’d asked himself many, many times in his life, though never for this reason. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to learn anything else about his ancestral species. Why would they do something so idiotic as making parts of their bodies _not_ green? Why couldn’t they just have looked _normal_? True, his colour was covered by his suit except for his hands, and that was a blessing, and it should have been his horrible eyes that bothered him more, but _really_!

He couldn’t help a little shiver as Jamack’s hand slid across his side, and he pressed back against him ever so slightly.

Jamack could hear the frustration in Harris’ voice, the old hatred he had for his stripes, his eyes, his orange hands, all of it. He never knew what to say when Harris opened up enough to talk to him about it. His affection for every part of Harris wasn’t enough, and Jamack had, after many attempts, come to terms with being unable to talk his way to a solution. Harris only grew more and more frustrated as they talked about his differences until he finally lashed out or shut down.

Instead of opening his mouth, Jamack just kept running his hand tenderly over the soft, brightly striped skin.

A long moment of silence. “You…really like them, don’t you?” Harris finally said, very softly.

Jamack wasn’t sure which answer would make Harris feel better, but erred on the side of honesty. “Yes.”

“Hmph. Weirdo.” Harris grinned to himself, arching his back against Jamack a little more. Carefully making his expression neutral again, he rolled onto his back, still pressed against Jamack’s side. He wanted to roll once more, so he was facing Jamack, but… He grinned again. “You’ve got dried cum on your belly,” he announced gleefully.

Jamack tried to brush it off, smearing some of it, with a real grimace this time. “Ugh.”

Harris was practically giggling at this point, shaking his head. “I think it’ll take a little more than that,” he laughed. “Probably something wet.”

Jamack looked up at him accusatorily. “You’re enjoying this!”

“Yes. Yes, I am. Here.” Finally taking mercy on him, Harris rolled off the bed and fished his handkerchief out of his suit-jacket pocket—where he kept it folded out of sight, of course. He spat on it and offered it to Jamack. He’d have to replace it, which meant he’d either have to come up with a good reason to explain why he needed a new one or trade someone for it privately, but he thought this was worth it.

Jamack shook his head at Harris, as though unhappy with him, but he was secretly pleased that Harris was willing to give up his handkerchief for him. He managed to clean himself up, standing up to wipe some of the cum off their bed. He hadn’t found sheets or anything like that to cover the mattress, but he was starting to think they would be worth finding. Suddenly he froze, eyes widening. The cum that had pooled inside him was dripping out now that he was standing upright. It drew an involuntary shudder out of him and a very soft moan.

Harris, his attention drawn by Jamack’s sudden, jerky movement, let out a fresh gale of laughter when he realized what had happened. “Oh, Jamack, you’re a _mess_ ,” he chirped, grinning broadly.

Jamack gave Harris an unimpressed look, carefully wiping up the cum currently dripping out of his cloaca. “This is _your_ mess,” he reminded him.

“Mm-hmm. You keep telling yourself that.” Still shaking his head, Harris started tossing bits of Jamack’s suit at him. Touching another Frog’s suit was strange, in some way even stranger than touching Jamack’s bare skin. It gave him a little rush and he stopped laughing.

Once Jamack was as clean as he could get without actual water, he began dressing, scowling whenever Harris was particularly careless with his suit.

“This was…” Harris struggled to find the right word, or at least one he was willing to use. “…fun,” he hinted, hoping Jamack would catch his meaning.

“Which part?” Jamack chuckled. “The actual bed? Or fucking me?”

Harris cocked his head. He’d meant the bed, but… “Both.” He blinked, then swallowed hard. “I’d like to do both again,” he admitted, almost having to force each word out.

“Yeah, me too. We’ve got patrol again the day after tomorrow,” Jamack said suggestively.

“So we do.” Harris nodded. “And this area seems…important?” Between his confession and the look on Jamack’s face, he was feeling a little self-conscious and he ducked his head to hide it, pretending to straighten his already-perfect tie.

Jamack smirked. “Sure. You’re really intent on patrolling this area because it seems _important_. Not at all because you want to fuck again on the nice bed I found us.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Jamack stepped in closer to adjust Harris’ tie himself, not caring that it was as straight as could be, before heading out to where they’d hidden the car.


End file.
